by Ron Goulart
“No, I’m about as intact as I was,” said Easy. “What’s happening there?”
“Nothing. I called Nan and she came up with around-the-clock watchdogs. On this shift there’s a Mr. F. E. Edwards out in the shrubs someplace watching over me. He says he’s an ex-marine.”
“Edwards tends to have autobiographical fantasies, but otherwise he’s okay. We use him quite a bit.”
“When are you coming home? I mean here to me.”
“In a few hours.” Easy remembered his tap water coffee and sipped it. “Yang.”
“What?”
“I’ve been backsliding and trying to drink coffee again,” he said. “Okay, I have to get going now.”
“Guard yourself and get back home in one piece, or at least in not more than a half-dozen I can reassemble without too much trouble.”
“Good-bye,” said Easy.
Easy yawned. The blurred night’s few stars were leaving the dawn sky above San Amaro. Thin slow rain still fell. He’d parked his VW with a cluster of other cars at a closed gas station two blocks uphill. Most of this stretch of beach was given over to ramshackle beach houses and a few doomed-looking restaurants and souvenir shops. In the frail light before morning the whole area seemed like a ghost of the Thirties.
The yacht club was built on a jutting of land, with a pale white pier leading out from it. The pier stopped abruptly a few hundred yards into the black ocean, like the remains of a bridge which had collapsed a long time ago. The sea was making snuffling sounds against the thin beach, brushing at the pale sand and the sprawl of debris.
A man-high wooden plank fence had been thrown up around the club grounds. The raw weathered boards were rich with inscriptions done in spray paint, chalk and something that might be blood. Screw Pigs! Jerry Eats It! Post No Bills! Jesus is the only Answer! The Red Avengers!
In the minutes he’d been watching the place from the dark doorway of a boarded-up seafood shop Easy had seen a police patrol car go by once. There was no sign of anyone moving on the club side of the fence.
Inhaling deeply, Easy ran to the wood fence, grasped its top and vaulted over. He landed, flatfooted, among soggy weeds. The club consisted of two long low buildings, built in the Spanish-Moorish style. There were many arches, much black wrought iron, jigsaws of tile roofing. The palm trees planted all around the club were mostly dead, their few dry fronds clicking in the mild dawn wind. It made Easy think of his roof-hopping down in Mexico.
He stayed close to the wall of the main building. There was no evidence of anything like a watchman around. Joanna had said she didn’t think anybody cared enough about the old place for that.
In a few minutes Easy located the office. The black and gold Office plate was still firmly attached to the red-painted door. There was no alarm system in evidence and he got the wooden door open quickly.
When he stepped onto the tile flooring of the small office a voice off in the dark corner said, “She changed her mind.”
XX
A FLASHLIGHT BLOSSOMED IN the darkness, its beam knifing across the room to catch Easy. Easy noticed the scent of pine now. “That’s a fast car you have, Rudy,” he said.
“Keep on coming in,” ordered Rudy. He had a red-stone ring on the hand which held the flash. His right hand contained a revolver. He was against the rear wall of the small office room, backed by wood-slat Venetian blinds. The gray light beyond the blinds was growing very gradually brighter. “We got a plane, a private plane. I wouldn’t drive all away down there. It bothers my kidneys so much driving. Extract the gun I see stuck in at your belt and place it carefully on the floor.”
After giving up his .38, Easy stepped near a water cooler which still held about a gallon of water. Halfway along the wall nearest him ran a table with ship models atop it, some in bottles. Clipper ships, sailboats and one pirate galleon. Next to the model table was a high trophy cabinet empty of all but two small tarnished silver cups. “Who told you the stuff was here?”
“Move a little ways from that water jug,” suggested Rudy. He walked to the wooden desk in the room’s center, keeping the circle of light always on Easy’s middle. “This is what we’ve all been searching for right here, Easy.” His gun hand patted an open-top file drawer resting on the desk.
“Joanna did tell you where Moseson kept it?”
“Not down in Mexico,” said Rudy. “Since.”
“How’d she do that?” Easy was a little closer to the table.
“She used the telephone initially,” said Rudy. The morning light was coming on and his cuds began to show. “Worked out a deal. It’s nice she did. Otherwise we’d’ve had to make trouble for her again and for you and maybe even for that long-legged blonde of yours.”
“Joanna made her deal with Troxa?”
“With somebody I work for,” answered Rudy. “What I’m telling you is, she changed her mind and decided to sell us this collection of very damaging evidence. Too bad in a way she didn’t come to that decision much earlier.”
“Before you killed Moseson.”
“That was an accident, an unfortunate side effect of our attempting to get him to tell us what in the hell he’d done with these paper goods.”
“Cutting Lana Moseson’s throat doesn’t sound like an accidental thing.”
“No, it was on purpose,” admitted Rudy. “We realized she was talking too much, to you especially. Except of course she didn’t talk about where her brother had stashed this. We tried hard enough to make her talk so I’m satisfied she didn’t ever really know.”
“What’s Joanna getting out of this?”
“Dough,” answered Rudy. “Nothing near as much as Moseson wanted, a sensible amount. I think maybe she had this in mind all along and would’ve tried it before if she hadn’t panicked. She worked out a pretty smart money drop, too. I have a feeling she’s good at thinking fast.”
“Yes, she is,” agreed Easy. Joanna must have thought this out during their ride back from Mexico and called Troxa as soon as she got inside her house. “What exactly did Moseson have?”
Rudy flickered the drawer’s contents with the little finger of his gun hand. “As fate would have it, somebody in the San Ignacio government was very thorough and methodical. He kept memos of all sorts of transactions, mostly crooked. Not only memos, but carbon copies of such things as the letters that leaked what prices to come up with to underbid the competition on various big city construction jobs. Things like that, plus a lot of faked invoices and a nice collection of canceled checks. Taken all in all, there’s enough in this box to screw up most everybody who runs the town. And that would screw up who I work for. So we had to stop Moseson.”
A foot nearer the model table, Easy asked, “How’d Moseson get it?”
“There’s no reason why we can’t have this little chat, Easy,” said Rudy. “Since I’m going to be the only one leaving this office. I’ve been waiting around for you, in fact. I figure Moseson did it this way. The guy who made this collection in the first place came to a sudden end. Because of something having nothing to do with the ton of stuff he’d gathered. Nobody of us knew anything about it. Moseson, though, was good at nosing things out. Once, sometime when he was doing an accounting job someplace, he must have got wind of this. When he heard the guy who kept the collection was dead and gone Moseson located the stuff and took it. Then he tried to …”
Easy grabbed up a bottled ship and threw it straight at Rudy. He dived for the tile floor.
“Son of a bitch.” The bottle had knocked Rudy’s gun from his hand.
Easy rose up again to throw the trophy case over onto Rudy. The two last trophies clanged together as the case caught Rudy in the knees. He tripped over it, falling toward Easy.
Easy yanked the pine-scented man up clear of the fallen cabinet.
Rudy swung at his head with the flashlight. The glowing end connected with Easy’s temple, snapping his head to the right.
Raising Rudy higher, Easy dropped him flat-footed. He let go and j
abbed a fist into his chin, then again.
“Son of a bitch,” repeated Rudy as he kicked at Easy’s crotch.
Easy caught the foot, spinning Rudy off balance and against the model table. A four-masted schooner collapsed beneath him, sending tiny sails and ropes and deck planks scattering.
Hopping backwards, Easy found the .38 he’d been forced to discard. He rushed the still-sprawled Rudy, cracking him three times against the side of the head.”
Rudy went back into the wall and a short way up it. He then settled down on top of the ruined ship models, slipping slowly over the edge of the table. He hit the tiles with his knees, flopped over on his face. A small green bottle containing the Mayflower wobbled over the edge after him and thunked down on his spine. This seemed to deflate him and he spilled out completely flat.
Easy gathered up Rudy’s gun, which had tangled in the slats of the ancient Venetian blinds, and his flashlight. He stuffed them in with the material in the file drawer.
Using Rudy’s shoelaces and belt, Easy tied the unconscious man up. He left him on the floor and carried the file drawer out into the commencing morning. The drawer was not that heavy.
XXI
THE FLOODLIGHTS WERE ALL still on at the Benning house, their pastel glare nearly killed by the brightness of the late-morning sunlight. After stopping on the gravel drive, Easy stayed in his car awhile. He rubbed a scraped knuckle over the tough stubble on his cheek. From down the block an Irish setter, red and sleek, came bounding. The big dog ran in the exact middle of the street until he neared Easy’s VW. Then he slowed, trotted over and jumped up at the open window next to Easy. His muddy paws made a half-dozen prints on Easy’s coat.
“Maybe I ought to start wearing coveralls on the job,” said Easy. He opened his door, pushing it gradually into the friendly setter. The dog had an assortment of tags, which jingled as he made his amiable attack.
“Go trace something,” Easy told the dog.
From downhill a woman called, “O’Brien, O’Brien!”
The dog made a final attempt to lick Easy’s face before reluctantly running off.
Easy knocked on the Benning screen door. The white wood door behind it was halfway open. “Benning,” said Easy.
Benning, in the same casual clothes of the night before, showed in the opening. “There’s no rush on your final report, Easy. If you’re as beat as I am, why don’t we let it go until later. Okay?”
“Where’s Joanna?”
“She’s been through a pretty hectic thing,” said Benning. “I’d like her to rest.”
Easy pulled the screen open. He stepped into the house, forcing Benning out of the way. “Is she here?”
Benning placed both his hands on his stomach and pressed. A look of pain took over his pale face. “Well, no, Easy, she’s not.”
“I told you to keep her here, to watch her.”
Benning said, “I didn’t buy you to come around and chew my ass out, Easy. She’s not here right now. There’s no big problem.”
“Where is she?”
Giving his stomach another press, Benning raised both hands up, shaking them. “It’s perfectly alright, Easy. She’s talking to Dr. Jacobs. She’s very anxious to put everything back the way it used to be, in the early days. When we were first married and happy, relatively happy.”
“What time did she leave the house?”
“That damn O’Brien got you all dirty, didn’t he? I keep telling Joanna we ought to call the Learmans and complain about the way they let …”
“Right after I did, didn’t she?”
Benning kept his face turned to Easy, but closed his eyes. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, yes.”
“She made a phone call or two first, though.”
“Yes, I guess she did. We have three phones. It’s hard for me to stop her,” said Benning. “I don’t want to have to use physical force. You shouldn’t have to really. You should be able to control …”
“She called a guy named Sam Troxa,” said Easy, “and offered to sell him something. Then she drove off and collected the money. Or let’s hope she did.”
Benning opened his eyes. “Who’s Sam Troxa?”
“It’ll be in the papers this afternoon,” said Easy. “And on the six o’clock news. Why did you tell me she was at Dr. Jacobs’?”
“Because I think she is. She called me about an hour ago to say she was jumpy and wanted to be off by herself for a while and she was sorry she’d driven off like that and just as soon as she saw Jacobs she’d come back home. She is being more open with me now, talking about this psychiatrist and all. It’s a good sign.” Benning touched at two long scratches on his wrist. “I did try to keep her home, Easy.”
“You talked to her an hour ago,” said Easy. “That should mean she got the money from Troxa and not killed.”
“Killed? She’s not still in danger?”
“Yeah, she’s still in danger. Especially since Troxa isn’t going to get what he paid for,” said Easy. “Though I figure all he can have given her so far is a down payment.”
Benning shook his head. “Aren’t you kind of spreading it a little thick, Easy? I talked to my wife not an hour ago. She sounded fine, very up. Joanna promised me things are going to change. I really think we’re going to make it this time. I really don’t want to hear anymore from you now. If you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” said Easy. “I came over to tell Joanna to watch out for a while. There’s going to be a big shake-up in San Ignacio, but it may not be big enough to knock Troxa off. She’s going to have to be careful.”
“I get the impression you’re trying to tell me Joanna’s mixed up in something criminal, Easy,” said Benning. “From what she’s indicated to me so far, she hasn’t done anything illegal.”
“Adultery isn’t a crime to you?”
Benning put his hand on Easy’s arm. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your finding her, Easy,” he said in a slow careful voice. “But I really don’t think I need you anymore.” He shoved Easy toward the door.
Easy let him.
Jill looked into the big white kitchen of her house and shook her head. “More backsliding?”
Easy was at the counter watching a silver electric coffeepot perk. “I’m in a self-indulgent mood.” He fetched a heavy mug out of a cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“You’re sure Joanna was the one who told them where to find that, blackmail junk?”
“Yep.” Easy had shaved and taken a shower. He was wearing the top half of a suit of red striped pajamas. He hadn’t slept yet. It was noon.
“Why?” Jill moved into the white room. “You don’t think she could have thought you’d already have picked up the stuff, that you’d have been gone by the time this Troxa man got there?”
“No, I don’t think that.” Easy drank some of his boiling hot coffee. “I think she set me up.”
Jill said, “She’s very contradictory.”
“You could say that about her, yes.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“I haven’t consulted any entrails or mandragore roots,” said Easy. “However, I would venture to predict that the shit is going to hit the fan.”
“I know that. Once you turned the blackmail material over to your contact in the District Attorney’s office and told the San Amaro police to come and get that Rudy, that was inevitable. I mean about Joanna, what’s going to happen to her?”
Easy shrugged. “Benning claims everything is going to come up fine.”
“You had to tell people about her, didn’t you?”
“Some,” said Easy. “She’s involved in several parts of the mess.”
“They’ll need a lawyer, huh?”
“At least one good one.”
Jill was behind him now, massaging his neck. “Maybe all this, the trauma or whatever, will have a positive effect on Joanna.”
“Maybe she’ll be struck by lightning and gain super powers or maybe she’ll win the Irish Swe
epstakes and retire to an island in Spain,” said Easy. “Most things, though, the kind of things Benning and Joanna say they want, you have to work at.”
Jill continued to stroke his neck. “Would you like to go to bed now?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
Easy thought about it. “No,” he said.
XXII
HAGOPIAN WAS SOPPING WET. He stood, shifting from one soggy foot to the other, on the newspaper pages Nan had spread out in Easy’s office. Rubbing paper towels over his black, tightly curling hair, he said, “I wasn’t expecting rain today.”
“What did you drive over here in?” asked Easy from behind his desk.
“Jem borrowed an old Chevy convertible from a tennis ball salesman she knows and she’s lending it to me.”
“You should keep the top up,” suggested Easy.
“I thought of that,” said the hawk-nosed writer. “I even discussed it with Jem. I pointed out that should the disc jockey I rely on for five minutes of news and weather each morning be anything less than infallible, I might get wet driving around in a convertible with no top.”
“She lost the top of this car, too?”
“Not too, John. It’s the bottom of my car she lost,” corrected Hagopian, who was still vigorously toweling his head. “As I understand it she went under something while driving this tennis ball salesman’s car and the top was torn off.”
“Under what?” asked Nan, handing Hagopian a bottle of aspirin.
“Something pretty low, I’m not sure what.”
“Take a few of those,” said Nan. “Lots of people will tell you aspirin has no effect in fighting possible infections, but I think it’s better than vitamin C.” She gave the air-conditioner knobs a few careful turns and left the room.
Hagopian said, “I see by the papers the last couple days that San Ignacio is falling apart. Was that Lt. Alvin the cop you talked to over there?”
“He was, yeah.”
“It’s funny,” said Hagopian. “Lots of guys who work with guns all their lives end up shooting themselves.”